


can't put this day back

by missymeggins



Category: Castle
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-19
Updated: 2013-10-19
Packaged: 2017-12-28 17:10:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/994469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missymeggins/pseuds/missymeggins





	can't put this day back

**can’t put this day back** _Castle_. Castle/Beckett. 1,290 words. pg

Author’s note: First Castle fic so please feel free to give constructive criticism, especially regarding characterisation.

I imagine this being set between Sucker Punch and The Third Man. An offscreen continuation of canon if you will.

 

 

His blood is all over her hands and for a moment when she looks at them it feels like it’s her mother’s blood and she’s to blame because she was so close to the answer and now it’s gone.

For a week afterwards, she can’t stop washing her hands.

..

She can feel his hand on her shoulder and it anchors her to the moment.

She hates him for it.

And she’s never appreciated him more.

His hand on her shoulder is the most solid thing she’s felt in a long time.

..

“Do you want a hotdog?”

His voice breaks through her reverie and she realises she’s been letting herself drift into darker territory. She shouldn’t do that, she knows, and the concern in his voice almost makes her smile.

“You mean on top of the Italian food, the Thai food and the Sushi? Are you trying to make me sick?”

He looks at her with a face that says he has no idea whether to take her seriously right now; no idea whether to pull her pigtails or hold her hand and she instantly regrets her words, as if he could be blamed for anything today.

Her voice softens and she moves her hand to touch his fingers briefly.

“Thank you Castle”.

They sit in silence for a little longer but this time she doesn’t let herself drift.

He’s here with her and that’s ok.

..

She takes a month off work and for the first few days she gets stuck in a cycle of sleeping and taking out her fear and anger on her punching bag.

She sleeps because she’s tired and because she doesn’t want to think or feel. But then she wakes up and she’s terrified that she’ll lose herself the way her father did in those first years, so she puts on her clothes and punches her way through the pain until she’s so exhausted she needs to sleep again.

(The truth is she’s not really scared she’ll lose herself the way her father did. She’s never been a drinker. She’s afraid to go back to the place she was at when she first started as a cop. The endless nights poring over and over case files; the way every case was life and death and when she couldn’t solve it she punished herself for other people’s pain. She tells herself she’s moved on from those days, but really that’s like an alcoholic saying he no longer craves a drink.

Her fear is _once an addict, always an addict_.

She knows what so many don’t - that addictions come in all guises.)

It’s a cycle.

She hates it.

..

“Do you mind if I come over for a little while?”

There’s a pause and for a moment she can almost see him on the other end of the line trying to formulate an excuse but then he speaks and she can hear the surprise in his voice and she realises that this is new.

She’s reaching out to him and it’s new.

“Sure, come on over. I should warn you though, Mother’s cooking so there’s no guarantee you’ll make it home alive.”

She smiles, realising that she’d kind of missed this.

“Oh I’m sure I’ll survive. She can’t be worse than you.”

“Hey! You’ve eaten my eggs and lived to tell the tale. Besides, who did you think did most of the cooking in this household?”

“Alexis.”

“Well. Yeah, ok. But that doesn’t mean I can’t cook. I just have more important things to do!”

“Right. So, I’ll be over in ten?”

“Looking forward to it.”

She hangs up the phone and for the first time in too many days, she feels like she can breathe again.

..

Alexis pulls her into an oxygen depriving hug the moment she enters their apartment.

It takes her by surprise and then there’s a wall of water rushing in towards her heart and tearing down the bricks she had so carefully built around the pain.

She feels the tears slide down her cheeks and her legs start to give way.

She hits the ground, taking Alexis with her and all she can hear, between her own shallow breaths, is Alexis whispering “I’m sorry” over and over again.

Then he’s there, gathering up Alexis and telling her it’s all going to be ok, and sitting down next to her while she cries.

His hand covers hers and at first she can’t understand why it seems so familiar until she remembers dinner at the precinct and her almost invisible gesture of gratitude.

She almost wishes he would just hold her, but she knows that really, this is best. They still have boundaries. They still need boundaries.

For now.

But it helps, his hand on hers, and slowly her breathing becomes more even and the tears start to dry.

“Ok”, she looks at him properly for the first time that night, “I need a drink.”

He smiles and pulls her to her feet.

..

It becomes a routine to have dinner with Castle and his family and she finds herself there almost every night.

(She tells herself that a routine is not a cycle and this is ok. She’s ok because of it. Except that it feels a little too good to be part of a family and she knows can’t get dependent on it. But it’s not a cycle. It’s just dinner. On repeat. The over analysing on the other hand ...)

There are no more tears after that first night. Mostly there’s a lot of laughter. Sometimes it’s Martha telling crazy stories about the theatre; sometimes it’s Alexis telling stories about Castle’s ‘research’ methods and sometimes it’s just laughter because they like one another’s company.

Most times after dinner it’s just them; Martha swans off to a party or to her room to rehearse, while Alexis diligently does her homework and puts herself to bed by a reasonable hour. It’s times like these she wonders how any of them could possibly be related.

And yet, she has to acknowledge that despite their outwardly dysfunctional appearance, the Castle’s might just be the most cohesive family she’s known for a really long time. Somehow, despite their differences and their somewhat disruptive elements, they just work.

So night after night she sits with Richard Castle until she’s ready to go home.

It’s different each night but it’s also the same. Or at least, the feeling is the same. There’s no pressure to talk or behave in any way; there are no expectations.

Some nights they open another bottle of wine and just make casual conversation.

Some nights they watch TV and she laughs at how involved Castle gets. He talks to the characters as if they’re real and gets worked up and plays the indignant writer when he decides that the writing is not up to standard.

She laughs at him and he frowns at her and tells her to shut up.

But there’s a light in his eyes that tells her he’s just glad to see her smile.

Some nights they’re silent and she starts to drift into darker territory.

When this happens, he doesn’t hesitate anymore; he just takes her hand and holds it until she’s ok.

..

She returns to work a month after shooting dead the man who murdered her mother.

She walks into the station and he’s there at her desk, sitting in her chair (which he’s clearly adjusted again) fiddling with the pens on her desk like they’re the most fascinating thing in the world.

“Out of my chair Castle!”

He jumps and starts babbling an apology as she smiles at him and shakes her head.

The truth is she doesn’t mind so much anymore.


End file.
